Spitcorner Blues

By D.E. Gilmore

Four friends decide to take a vacation together to find an uncle who has disappeared. What should have been a simple, cheap vacation turns into a thrilling voyage of discovery as the friends uncover a conspiracy of theft and murder around an archaeological site in rural Colorado and discover truths about themselves and those close to them. Relationships are tested in this taut thriller, which challenges the reader in an edge-of-your-seat conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781441598677

D.E. Gilmore

D.E. Gilmore was born Minnesota and educated at a small Christian college outside of Chicago where he earned a degree in archaeology. After college, he became an officer in Army Military Intelligence during the Vietnam War. Later, he was an occupational butterfly for many years as a village historian, community activist, railroad worker and the manager of a bus and valet company. He then began a thirty year career as a parole and probation officer, finally retiring as a lieutenant for the Nevada Department of Public Safety in 2009. D.E. Gilmore began writing as a past-time almost thirty years ago and has written four novels, including Dragonkeep, Spit Corner Blues, Assassin’s End and A Portrait of Murder. He is presently working on a book with his wife Bonnie and they reside in Carson City, Nevada.

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Copyright © 2009 by D.E. Gilmore.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/08/2022

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 1

H ow often can any of us trace back to their beginnings the events that drastically altered one’s life? Most of us simply wait in our inertness for something to happen—anything that will add a dimension of excitement that is not forced. We feel a deep dissatisfaction within ourselves and, yet, have no real understanding of what it is that keeps us discontented. To find an answer, or a reason, is often not enough. It is only the start of a journey that feels perilous and fraught with confusion.

It is that journey that speaks of change. Sometimes we act, and sometimes we are acted upon; but always, along the way, we must decide—to go forward, further into the darkness, or to step back to surround ourselves again with what is familiar.

My journey—our journey—began innocently enough with a card game. This had been a tradition for three years—the four of us sitting down to play spades. We would play through a series until each of us had been partners with everyone else, and then we would do it again and again. It was a way for us to be friends, to work through the dynamics of friendship as we played.

The card games seemed to provide a structure to play out our feelings toward one another, to sort out the confusion that complicated our being together. And confused we were! You see, I was in love with Anne Marie—in fact, this was how I had come to be a part of this foursome. Anne and I had worked together and had started dating. Through Anne I had met Scott and Bonnie. Bonnie and Anne were roommates at the time, and Scott was their best buddy.

That was three years ago, and since that time, Scott had decided that he had to have Bonnie. The subject had been broached and had gone nowhere. Bonnie instinctively decided that it wouldn’t work, although her reasons were unclear and made no sense to Scott.

It was a difficult time, complicated further by the fact that Anne and I had broken off our romantic relationship, struggling to remain friends. Breaking off the relationship was not my first choice.

Anybody want another beer? Scott asked, rising from the table. Scott was Irish and very large. He presented an intimidating presence, physically, in most social gatherings and was acutely aware of this fact. It contributed to a certain cockiness in his manner that, fortunately, was suspended around those he considered his close friends.

I can’t believe you did that! Anne Marie exclaimed again, addressing me, her partner for the moment. If you had played the five of spades on Bonnie’s king, we could have taken that trick!

I already told you that I couldn’t! I snapped. Scott was out of hearts as well, and he might have overtrumped me!

He didn’t have any trump left!

Yes, but I didn’t know that!

If you paid attention to what had been played, you would have known! Why don’t you two stop arguing and have a beer, Scott interjected.

Besides, it’s over, and we won the trick, he said this gleefully. The better team won! stated Bonnie, amused.

Right! Anne and I rejoined, disbelieving.

Remember, we have Stoli and olives for a great martini later. Scott held up the bottle of our favorite vodka and then placed it back in the freezer.

Don’t worry, Anne, Bonnie said. You and I will be partners next round, and we’ll show them how this game is played!

Right! This time from Scott and myself.

For the last time, does anyone want a beer?

Yes! thundered the unanimous response.

Having dispensed the beer, Scott sat down, and we resumed the play.

This time keep your mind on the game! Anne demanded, sulkily accepting her cards. It was a partner’s hand, and since I was dealing, I expected a good play. I was not disappointed as I picked up my cards and saw a sea of black.

I hope you have something, said Scott to Bonnie. I have shit for a hand!

Why don’t you pass to me then? she responded.

What do you want to do, Douglas? asked Anne Marie.

We looked at each other and smiled across the table, the gloom of past play instantly lifted.

I think you should pass to me, I stated, barely able to hide the anticipation.

The pass completed; we settled back to see the results of the deal. Scott? Anne Marie and I chimed together.

I got nothing! he said, exasperated, throwing his cards on the table.

I think I can get three. Excitement tinged Anne Marie’s voice. We’ll go four as a team because we have to! declared Bonnie.

Ten-for-two! The words burst forth from my lips, accompanied by a squeal from Anne Marie, This should even things up a bit.

You haven’t won yet! stated Bonnie. Let’s go, Scott, it’s your start. The hand played as expected with Anne Marie and I sweeping twelve of the thirteen tricks.

Stoli time! Scott declared, rising from the table.

What did your parents have to say? Anne Marie asked. I had mentioned earlier that my parents had called the night before from Las Vegas, where they had retired several years ago.

Apparently, Uncle Eric has disappeared, I said matter-of-factly.

Who is Uncle Eric? asked Scott, busy with the bottle of Stolichnaya and anchovy-filled olives.

Well, actually, he’s my great uncle on my mother’s side, I said. My grandmother’s younger brother. He is kind of a hermit in western Colorado—a painter in the tradition of Georgia O’Keeffe. He lives by himself on a cliff above a beautiful lake and paints desert scenes.

So where has he disappeared to? asked Bonnie, helping Scott distribute the glasses.

That’s just it—no one knows. My parents got a letter from my grandmother saying that she has been trying to contact Uncle Eric for two months without success. Apparently, the people in the closest town haven’t seen him either. The police in the town have done a search that has turned up nothing. His house is there and all of his things, but it’s obvious to them that it hasn’t been used for quite a while.

That’s pretty weird, said Scott absently, tasting his drink. Um— not bad. He focussed once again on me. How old is this guy anyway?

Old, I said. Probably in his late seventies. My grandmother is eighty-nine, and I think he is at least ten years younger.

He probably dropped dead of old age when he was out painting some old skeleton or something in the desert.

I don’t know . . . , I said. They searched the area pretty well. His old truck was still at the house, and he couldn’t have walked very far.

Was he a good painter? Anne Marie asked.

I guess so. He is pretty popular out West, and some museums have his paintings.

Is he rich? Bonnie inquired curiously.

I doubt it. I laughed. I don’t think he has sold a painting in a long time, whether by choice or what, I don’t know. I went out to stay with him for a couple of weeks when I was fifteen or sixteen, and he sure didn’t live like he had money. The house was pretty small and wasn’t that clean.

Well, I think we should play one more hand, and then I need to go out and get cigarettes, Bonnie interjected.

And more beer! Scott responded. I’ll go with.

Me too, said Anne Marie. I could use the air.

Well, Douglas, what about you? All attention turned toward me.

What the hell—why not? Just don’t embarrass me with your drunkenness. Right! they responded in unison.

On the way to the liquor store, Scott grabbed my arm and dropped back significantly behind the women, who always seemed to walk together and in the lead.

What the hell is the matter with Anne Marie? he asked in a hushed voice.

What do you mean? I responded.

She has been nagging on you all night and is acting like a real jerk.

I don’t know, Scott, but I suspect that I’m getting on her nerves again. That seems to be the pattern. When I’m not around she seems to miss me, but when I am around I get on her nerves. She is certainly not the Saint of Patience.

I wish these women would decide what they want! Bonnie is the same way. When Bonnie’s got nothing else going on, I’m her favorite guy. But the minute she gets a fancy about someone, I might as well be a leper.

So why do you put up with it?

Why do you?

I laughed. Probably because I’m a pussy-whipped wimp.

Do you really believe that?

I paused for a moment, considering the question. Sometimes, I guess. Anne Marie’s family certainly believes it. But then they’re so damned macho, especially her brothers. I think what they believe makes Anne Marie wonder though. It was just another crack in the foundation of our relationship.

So why don’t you stand up to her?

I can never think of the right things to say at the time. I just act mad and look silly. Then Anne thinks I’m a real jerk.

Fuck what Anne Marie thinks. Maybe you need to practice getting mad more so you don’t look so silly.

Good advice—bad timing, I responded passively. It’s a little late for Anne and I. I don’t think it matters what I do at this point—it’s not going to be enough.

Well, Anne Marie is not the only woman in the world.

Come on, you guys! shouted Bonnie over her shoulder. We’re almost there!

Having bought the necessary supplies of our common existence, we started back to Bonnie’s apartment.

By the way, Scott said, lifting the case of beer to his shoulders. It’s almost vacation time, and we haven’t come up with any ideas.

This was also a tradition—the common vacation. It was a time to take our quarreling on the road, where the boundaries of our friendship could be severely tested. Yet despite our communicated differences, a very important fact surfaced at times such as this, a fact that was seldom openly spoken. We enjoyed being together. So much so that we endured the frustration caused by our differences and the pain that our involvement brought.

Wherever we go, it’s got to be cheap, said Anne Marie. Technically, I can’t afford to go anywhere.

It’s a good thing we don’t live technically, Scott responded.

I agree with Anne Marie, Scott, I jumped in. I’m tapped out too! Me too, said Bonnie.

Great! So why don’t we spend our vacation at Bonnie’s apartment, playing spades, Scott responded, sarcastically.

Anne Marie glanced at him maliciously. That’s fine for you to say, Scott—you live at home with your mom! We all have bills to pay!

All right, all right, Scott answered with resignation. So where can we go for a couple of weeks that is cheap?

What about your family, Douglas? Bonnie asked. They live out West, and if we could stay with them, it wouldn’t cost much. Besides, all of our relatives live here.

Anne Marie and I looked at each other and laughed.

Fine, Bonnie, I responded, if you wouldn’t mind spending two weeks in a church. My family is extremely religious, and I doubt that our idea of a good time matches theirs.

Scott stopped walking suddenly, put the case of beer on the sidewalk, and began gesturing wildly with his arms.

I have got a great idea! he said with animation. Why don’t we go and find Douglas’s uncle?

What? we asked in unison, disbelieving what we had heard.

Listen—it’s a wonderful idea! Scott continued with excitement. The guy hasn’t been at his house in months, right? So we could have the place to ourselves—for free. And in the meantime, we could try to discover what happened to him. It would be like an adventure. I’m sure that if we spent some time there, we could come up with some clues. And if we find him, everyone would be grateful! We can’t lose!

Pick up the beer, Scott, and let’s go, Anne Marie demanded with irritation.

Scott did as he was ordered, but was not about to let the suggestion drop.

I’m serious! he said, hurrying to catch up. Our only expense would be the drive out and back and food while we’re there. And if the area is as beautiful as Douglas said, it would be a great place to get away to!

You know, it’s not a bad idea, Bonnie pondered, unlocking the door to her building. What do you think, Douglas? Would anyone mind?

I doubt it. I could write to my grandmother for permission, but I’m sure she would be relieved. It might settle some things for my family if we could find out anything.

What do you say, Anne? asked Bonnie.

I don’t care, Anne Marie answered resignedly. As long as I don’t have to be the one to take care of everything! I’m not going to be the one stuck with making all the arrangements and making sure that everyone brings everything.

You won’t be! we said sincerely, sitting down to finish the series of cards.

And so the journey began—innocently enough, with Anne Marie making all the arrangements and making certain that everyone brought everything.

CHAPTER 2

T h e small town of Duncan, Colorado, boasted a population of 3,700 people and was the gateway to Lake Laramie recreation area, at least that is what the road sign said. To us, having arrived late in the afternoon of our second day of driving, it appeared to be the gateway to nowhere. The town was composed mainly of bars and agricultural supply stores. A huge rock foundry and cement works had dominated the landscape as we entered the town.

I sincerely hope this isn’t all there is to this place, observed Anne Marie, peering out of the side window of Bonnie’s car. Or we could quickly die of boredom. Maybe that’s what happened to your uncle, Douglas.

Now, now, Scott corrected. I’m sure they are rich in nightlife here. He said this with amusement in his voice.

Uh-huh. I can’t wait to get to the square dance and hog-calling contest, Bonnie interjected, despairingly.

Recreation in a place like this probably means getting drunk and raping white female travelers, I said, pulling the car into a parking space.

What about raping white male travelers? Bonnie asked.

Nah, they’re probably too macho for that.

Why don’t we get a drink in this bar while the ‘white male travelers’ find out where Uncle Eric lives? Anne Marie said to Bonnie as she opened the door.

Where do you think we should ask? inquired Scott.

Probably at the police station, I responded and then said to the women, We’ll meet you in the bar in a bit.

The police station was visible at the end of the street.

I thought you said you had been to your uncle’s place before? Scott pondered as we walked.

That’s right—when I was fifteen or sixteen.

You don’t remember where he lives?

It was a long time ago, Scott. Besides, he picked me up here in town, so I didn’t drive myself to his place.

Do you remember what it was like—his place?

I have a memory, but things change so much over the years. Who knows what it looks like now. I remember his house overlooking the lake—it was quite beautiful. I would imagine the lake is Lake Laramie since I don’t know of any other lake in this area.

Did he have a boat?

He had a rowboat. No motor that I can remember. Why?

A boat might be fun.

As I remember, it was hard to get to. His house is on something like a cliff, so we had to climb down this narrow trail to the water. There was a tiny beach or something. Everywhere else, the water seemed to go right up to the cliff. I think he had some kind of a dock.

Still it would be nice to have a boat.

Well, don’t get your hopes up for a lot of things. He was basically a hermit and wasn’t concerned with the kind of things we consider necessities. When I was there, he had an outhouse.

An outhouse?

An outdoor toilet. I do remember that he had an old hand water pump inside, though.

Well, that’s something at least, Scott responded, somewhat sarcastically.

This isn’t going to be some vacation in a halidom, Scott. It’s going to be a bit like roughing it.

We arrived at the police station and went inside. It was a small flat building, constructed like most of the noticeable buildings in town, of cement blocks. Behind a desk in the corner sat who appeared to be the